The Shadow
by Medusa-sensei
Summary: Barefooted and alone, he walked towards the streets where vehicles sped past by him in a mere blur, a grim yet accepting smile tugging at the edges of his dry lips as he felt the wind whip against his skin. No one would notice even if he crossed the street, and no one will care. Everything will be alright, he thought. Without another word, he took a step forward and another.
1. Chapter 1

**The Shadow**

Barefooted and alone, he walked towards the streets where vehicles sped past by him in a mere blur, a grim yet accepting smile tugging at the edges of his dry lips as he felt the wind whip against his skin. No one would notice even if he crossed the street, and no one will care. Everything will be alright, he thought. Without another word, he took a step forward and another. And then he smiled.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

**Warning: **Self-harm, depression, etc...

**A/N: **I _suck_ at angst so I hope you bear with me! ^^

* * *

_..._

_..._

_..._

_It hurts._

Staring blankly at the photograph which was taken not too long ago when he used to be a part of Teikō, Kuroko could feel his lax grip tighten against his own will, his expression strained and pained. He could remember everything; what they used to be, what they all had, what they could have been, and what they had turned out to be.

It all happened too fast, he couldn't help but think.

Everything that they all had once was in the past.

A memory to be forgotten. A tragic story to be told. A thought to be locked away.

And it hurt Kuroko so much that only _he_ could remember it.

They were unreachable; _miracles_, as their name entailed. They were far beyond anybody's reach, their talents all but too polished and their potential too sharpened for someone as ordinary as him.

But he didn't give up. He didn't avert his eyes. He didn't feel terrified or scared.

No, Kuroko was stronger than that.

Dropping the photograph on the nightstand situated beside his bed with a soft sigh, the teenager slowly pushed himself away from the wall and sat upright. He pressed his palms against his face and stifled a sob as his eyes fell on the wristbands that he usually wore when they used to have a basketball match and all the injuries that littered his wrists underneath the ornament's surface. Without removing the wristbands, he could tell; he saw them every single day before he lays sleepless on his bed for another night. They existed - hideously ugly and so infuriatingly agonizing - but they remained unseen and concealed from the rest of the world's prying and seeing eyes.

(Just like him, he thought.)

Years and decades of being forgotten and ignored, being one of those people who simply didn't mean anything to you but just existed in the background and being that one person who all the people couldn't seem to remember. It was painful. It was excruciatingly agonizing.

Kuroko was born with the ability to be overlooked; to be unseen and to remain unnoticed. His words, his actions and his identity were nothing to all the other people. They didn't bother to concern themselves with him. It was hard because no one could understand his pain; no one would be there to listen to him. No one would be there to befriend him. No would be there to pat him in the shoulder and assure him that everything is going to be okay.

No one was there for him.

He was alone.

Alone, and always _alone_.

Living a life of isolation, he thought, might have been what forced him to keep all his thoughts to himself. He knew that no one would be there to listen to him. He knew that no one would bother to just look at him in the eyes and sincerely see him with their own eyes, talk to him, and know him.

No, no one was there. He was alone.

So he kept it all to himself.

Bottled up, screwed tight, thrown ocean deep and forgotten.

But not necessarily non-existent.

It was still there. Waiting.

Waiting for that time when the waves will carry it to the shore, waiting for that time when the bottle floats to the surface and bursts open, waiting for that time when it just _breaks_.

_If I shout, will you hear me? _

_Or will I be ignored? _

_Will I remain unnoticed?_

Kuroko let his hands fall beside him and glanced at the mirror fixated to his left with a dazed expression. Tears marred his pale face and his eyes were hauntingly empty and blank, as if the tears he had cried had all dried up and he couldn't bring himself to cry anymore. His lips were chapped and dry, and the bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't been sleeping properly for the past few weeks- if not months.

It was a rather depressing sight.

He weakly pushed himself off of the bed with a soft grunt and stood on his own two feet.

It was cold and it was dark outside, but what was the point, if he was going to lie awake yet again for another night?

And so, he opened his door and left.

...

...

...

_No one said that he had to return._


	2. Chapter 2

He was freezing.

His entire body trembled as the night breeze swept past him, making him shiver as he slowly lifted his head up to stare at the dark sky. Stars glimmered briefly for a moment or two before fading away as the clouds drove on its own path, unyielding even as it covered the round moon that stood at plain sight.

_Breathtaking_, he mouthed.

How must it have been like to be the moon?

Untouchable, unreachable and _alone_?

Would it be as lonely as he was?

With flashes of hope that gradually burns out over the course of time?

As morning comes, he remains forgotten and as the moon rises, he remains unfound?

_It must be lonely_, Kuroko pondered as he continued to walk, barefooted. He could feel his feet hurt from the jagged surface of the concrete, but he didn't stop. There was no sense in going back. He lived alone so no one will have to worry about looking for him. Even the school won't probably notice.

He might inconvenience the fast-food restaurant where he works though, but a missing employee can easily be replaced, right?

Replaceable; just like that one piece of the puzzle that can't fit into the picture.

_..._

_..._

_..._

_There will always be a spare piece._

_There will always be a replacement._

_There will always be someone left out of the picture._

**_…And that was _****_him._**

...

...

...

He walks and continues to think, his expression unchanging even as the cold night breeze seemed to slice through his pale skin. He sported nothing but a thin white shirt and shorts; he hadn't bothered to change into another set of clothing. It wasn't as if he needed a change of clothes for a little walk, right?

He looked up.

Vehicles speedily drove through the streets just several feet away from where he stood, the noise made by the engines and the low hum of the people's conversations passing through his ears and urging him to walk faster.

_Right, _his mind answered.

...

...

...

_Everything that is beautiful is untouchable; unattainable, just like the moon._

_Just like a rose that has its thorns._

_Just like the sun that burns so bright it blinds._

_And just like salvation from all this pain..._

_…it was nowhere to be found._

...

...

...

Kuroko paused and looked at his wrists before removing his wristbands form where they were, unflinching even as he saw the thick, red and angry lines on his pale skin. He had done this to himself, he knew. He might be a fool, but he wasn't that much of a retard to not know what he was doing to himself.

It was as simple as he couldn't take it.

Cowardly as it may have been, _it hurt and it still does_.

It was no joke.

The pain.

The suffocation.

The contradiction he could feel bubbling up his chest and messing up with his head.

The frustration that grips his heart and tears it apart into tiny shreds.

The anger he directs toward himself for being everything he didn't want to be.

The helplessness he felt knowing that he couldn't do anything.

The regret he felt for doing _nothing _to stop or make something happen.

He can't play the part of someone who is strong enough to overcome everything alone; he can't play the hero when he can't save himself or anybody else.

Kuroko just _can't_, so he bitterly smiles to himself.

He can't fool himself.

He can lie, but his heart knows the truth.

He can always, _always_ convince himself that he just wanted to clear his head a little.

He can also tell himself that he just wanted a little time to sort things out.

But in all honesty, he can't.

He knew that he wasn't coming back.

He was _never_ coming back.


End file.
